Again
by hptriviachamp
Summary: "Do you ever feel like if you could do your whole life over, you would?" "Perhaps, but then I'd regret it all over again, and I'd be back exactly where I started." *ON HIATUS*
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

She sees him first. She's just escaped Professor Hammond and is about to get dinner at her favorite diner where she knows she has a cozy booth waiting for her, when she sees a face so familiar, she can't help but do a double take.

She edges a little closer to where he is talking on his cellphone and inhales sharply when his eyes suddenly make contact with his.

She speaks first.

"Ian?"

"Amy," His smile is as warm as the sun but she feels a shiver that has nothing to do with the briskly cold weather in New York.

"It's been..." She trails off as he walks in step next to her.

"Too long," He finishes. "Tell me, how are you?" He looks at her with his amber eyes, gleaming in the streetlight, and she can feel herself being drawn in once more, because after all these years, she hasn't forgotten the crush she had on Ian Kabra. Back with they were fourteen and so silly, he had stolen her first kiss from her in Korea, and from that moment, she was hooked. In her eyes, he could do no wrong, with his beautiful eyes and quick mouth and sarcastic drawl.

She'd been obsessed, but he'd been obsessed right back.

She was blind if didn't remember the way he laughed loudly, throwing his head back and dimples showing, every time she made a (admittedly not very humorous) joke, the way he when he looked at her, she was the only girl in the world.

The only girl for him.

"I'm good," She hears herself say. "Just coming back from class."

"You attend Columbia then?" Ian asks.

"Yeah," Amy says and smiles, because despite everything, it's been the best three years of her life. "I assume you're not here to go to school?" She eyes him curiously.

He sighs heavily. "Afraid not. I'm here on branch business, if you can imagine."

She tenses at the casual mention of the life she left behind, but manages a somewhat sympathetic, "I can't imagine how it must be, branch leader at your age."

He looks at her strangely, "I'm sure you would know. You shouldered more responsibility than any one of us."

"Yeah," She says distantly, looking anywhere but those eyes, "Yeah, I did." For a moment, she is assailed by memories, ghosts really, of the past she's tried so hard to escape. It is as though she can see them all once more: Grace, her mom, dad, Irina, Evan, William McIntyre- And oh God, she can see them, like she used to all the time, with glazed smiles on their faces, mocking her because she knows what happens to them when they don't-

-Suddenly, as quickly as she left, she's back on the busy streets of New York, with one Ian Kabra looking at her with concern.

"Are you quite alright, Amy?" He asks.

"I'm fine," She says, brushing it off like it never happened. She looks up at him, determine to downplay this whole thing, and besides she's starving, so she asks, "Listen, I'm going to get some dinner. Do you want to join me?"

* * *

She's internally amazed that they can carry on like nothing ever happened between them, just having a normal, adult conversation.

It seems so normal: them sliding into a booth in the corner with such ease, it's like they've been doing it for years, and once they've ordered and she's teased him a sufficient amount about slumming it in a New York City diner with her, they fall into catching up with each other's' lives.

It's going quite well, really, until-

"You know, you were my first crush." The words slip out before she knows it, and she's blushing, hard, like she's fourteen once again.

So much for normal, adult conversation.

But he takes it in stride, softly chuckling and saying, "We were so young and different back then, it's almost ridiculous."

"Do you remember after the clue hunt, I decided to get us all together in Attleboro?"

"And Dan and Hamilton nearly blew up the house when they "accidentally" set off fireworks indoors?" He asks, and her lips curl upwards into a grin.

"Please," She rolls her eyes, "We all know you were involved too. Between Dan and Hamilton, I don't think either of them knew how to actually light a match."

"You can't prove anything," He points out, smirking, and for a moment, it feels like he's fourteen again too. It comforts her to know that not everyone in the world she left behind changed.

"Still sneaky as ever, Lucian," She comments, swiping a fry from his plate.

He snorts and says, "And you my dear Madrigal, are as elusive as ever."

She laughs heartily at that, and this time, he joins too.

After their laughter dies out, they lapse into companionable silence, each focused on their food.

"And Amy?" Her eyes snap towards his, and emerald makes contact with amber. The unspoken question lingers between them for a moment, until he speaks.

"You were my first crush too."

* * *

 _This idea popped into my my mind weeks ago and I hope to be able to update this as soon as possible, so let me know what you guys think, and be sure to comment and follow!_

 _Thanks!_


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

It becomes almost a ritual for them: Ian comes to New York and they take the time to catch up and have dinner, sometimes going for long walks in Central Park, so she can get a break from her studying, and he can get a break from his life.

It's nice in its own way: friendly, but casual.

(Sometimes she wonders if Ian just uses whatever excuse he can to come to New York and see her. Her insides flutter oddly at the thought, but she thinks nothing of it.)

It's on another crisp, autumn day, sometime in the middle of November when the leaves have mostly turned brown, that they find themselves wandering on some lonely path in the park.

He's standing a little closer to her than what is considered friendly, but if she notices, she doesn't mind it. Whatever lines she'd put up all those years ago have always been blurred when it concerns him.

Nellie would probably scoff and say that this was Amy's own weird perpetuation of the virginity myth: that you never get over the first person sleep with, or in this case, kiss.

In that scenario, Amy would hasten to assure Nellie that firstly, she had _definitely_ gotten over the first person she'd slept with, and as for Ian…

Well, it's more than that. They'd journeyed so far together, and somewhere in the middle of their deadly quests to save the world, they managed to achieve a level of intimacy that Amy could never quite replicate with anyone else.

Just as she is coming out of her reverie, Ian speaks.

"I spoke to Dan the other day, you know."

Her heart plummets fifty feet in free fall when he says that, because _oh_ they're about to have that conversation.

"How is he?" She asks hesitantly, unsure on how to proceed.

"He's doing brilliantly," He tells her honestly, his lips twisting into an ironic grin, "Especially considering almost all of us doubted him when he took over for you."

Somewhere in the back of her mind, a guilty voice whispers _he had no choice_.

She squashes that thought and instead says lightheartedly, "I think somewhere between his wannabe-ninja days, Dan finally grew up."

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Or perhaps he had to grow up fast, just like the rest of us did. He's not the same Dan anymore. Even I can see that this job is draining him. Jonah, Hamilton, Atticus, and I are there for him, but it's not enough."

What remains unsaid is " _he misses you, and is feeling the pressure you managed to selfishly escape_ ".

"Oh," Is all Amy can manage. Guilt is absolutely wrecking her, and if she looks a little harder, she can see all their faces once more, that old reoccurring nightmare that she's tried so hard to escape, but it weighs on her, weighs on her very soul, because there are some demons you just can't escape.

"It's not too late for you to come back," Ian speaks quietly, in a tactful manner, but the eagerness in his voice betrays him. "You could come back and assume your rightful place-"

"-I couldn't, Ian," She interrupts harshly, "Not after everything- the clue hunt, Vespers, Pierce, Nathaniel-" Her voices cracks as she lists every single person or thing that has ever haunted her and hurt her until her innocence was just a sham, a mere shadow of what it had been when she was fourteen.

He takes her hand comfortingly into his warmer one, and she feels the tears well up in her eyes. No one has comforted her with as simple a gesture as this in a long time.

"I understood," He says softly, "The amount of pressure you were under for someone that age, it was inhumane for us to do that to you any longer."

Her shoulders un-tense and she exhales. "You understand."

"How could I not?" He asks, and she immediately realizes what he means: Mother and Father dead, but not before they could do significant damage to all their lives, and Natalie, his own little sister, a victim of that, and on top of that, being forced to assume leadership of the Lucian branch. Life hasn't been fair to Amy Cahill, but neither has it been fair to Ian Kabra.

They fall into silence once more. It seems like they're always doing so, but not because they have nothing to say; it's because they're thinking about what has been said.

It's funny, she finds herself musing as she looks around her, that even in this cold, life seems to go on in New York. They don't hide in their snug apartments or the coffee shop around the corner. Joggers simply wear thermals and mothers dress up their little babies in warm coats and blankets before taking them out in their strollers.

When she says as much to Ian, he replies, "Of course it goes on," He then adds a little more bitterly, "Whether we like it or not."

She's curious when she shouldn't be. What did he mean by those little words _whether we like it or not_?

So when she asks, "Do you ever feel like if you could do your whole life over, you would?", she is definitely prying.

He briefly closes his eyes in silent contemplation before he answers:

"Perhaps, but then I'd regret it all over again, and I'd be back exactly where I started."

* * *

 _Hello! First off, I'd like to thank TheGraceOfDawn, 39addict101, and 39CluesFan-Star for their lovely reviews and their warm welcome to me entering the 39 Clues Fandom. I've wanted to write an Amian story for ages, but I never got a chance to, until now, so thanks for the support!  
_

 _Anyway, this chapter was definitely more than a little angsty. If you're looking for romance/fluff, don't worry, it'll all come. Eventually. This is not just a romance story, but also about the progression of Amy as a person, because let's face it, if you go through experiences like that, you're probably dealing with some major emotional trauma. And as for Ian, he seems like the person who'd understand her the most: they both lost their parents, had a younger sibling relying on them and they both failed in their own ways, were heads of their branch, and the entire Cahill clan at some point, and in this story, broke up with their teenage boyfriend/girlfriend._

 _Yes, Amy broke up with Jake and Ian with Cara at some point. I never did quite like Jake for various reasons I'll expand on at some point, and as for Cara, she's such a cool character, but being with Ian kinda reduced her to the second person in a couple._

 _Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and as always, reviews would be much appreciated! **  
**_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The words he said keep repeating over and over in her head, like a mantra, nonstop, even as she heads back to her apartment, overlooking the park. When she moved to the city, she decided to splurge on this small apartment on the Upper West Side. It was in a quiet neighborhood, peaceful and almost secluded, just what she needed after all those years running around the world. It cost a pretty penny too, but while Amy may have cut off all contact with Cahills, that doesn't change the fact that thanks to Grace, she is an independently wealthy woman at the age of twenty-three.

No one knew this, except for her closest friends in Columbia, the same friends who had asked her why she'd started college two years late and she'd told them something about taking care of family.

Most of them had taken that to mean taking care of her dying grandmother, and then earning a large inheritance for her troubles.

She'd never bothered to correct their assumptions.

 _In a way it's true_ , she had justified to herself back then. She _was_ taking care of her grandmother's legacy as head of the Cahills, a role Amy herself had briefly stepped into.

But how could she have explained that it meant being the head of the most powerful family in the world, while taking care of her sixteen year-old brother when she was barely legal herself, and grooming him to be the next leader of the Madrigals, and perhaps the Cahills, when the biggest issue on most of their minds back then was midterms?

She isn't cut out for that kind of life anymore, despite what her entire family had tried to tell her when she announced her premature retirement from the family "business".

She busies herself with making a cup of tea, far more preferable to coffee on a day like this, when it is more grey than bright, and the sun feels like a distant memory. As she does so, she remembers the conversation in the park, and a little voice in her head whispers _Ian still thinks you can do it._

But then, Ian always seems to think the best of her, even when she doesn't herself.

What was it he had said?

 _"Perhaps, but then I'd regret it all over again, and I'd be back exactly where I started."_

How often has she wondered what her life would be like if she had never taken the clue instead of a million dollars? How many innocent lives would she have saved?

But then, by not winning the clue hunt, how many lives would she be destroying?

 _I'd be back exactly where I started._

And how many times had Ian wondered the exact same thing, and come to the same grim conclusion every time?

It's a torturous cycle, thinking about the bygones and imagining the what-could-have-beens. It kept her from moving forward all these years, because the past always seemed to drag her back.

But now, since Ian's arrival back into her life, something is changing, the nightmares are becoming less and less, and suddenly, she sees a small spark of a future she never knew could exist for her.

 _"You were my first crush too."_

 _She should have known, really; all the signs were there, but that doesn't stop her from blushing like a school girl when he says those words._

 _He continues, "I could never understand why at first. You were everything my parents-" He says the words parents as if it leaves a bad taste in his mouth, "-told me was wrong in the world, but as the clue hunt went on… I couldn't help it."_

 _"I wondered, you know, if Korea- was it real?"_

 _"It was," He says, and since they're playing confessions, she says another one:_

 _"The whole time you were with Cara, I was jealous, even though I had Jake."_

 _"And if you can imagine," Ian chuckles, "I always felt the urge to punch him every time he walked into the room."_

 _Amy feigns shock, gasping dramatically and saying, "The great Ian Kabra resorting to fist fights like the rest of us commoners?"_

 _"I also thought about poisoning him," Ian admits, and she doubles over with laughter, loud enough so that the people in the next booth lean over to see what's going on._

 _She finds that she doesn't particularly care, and when Ian joins in, it makes it that much better._

 _When they leave, he holds the door open for her, and she accidentally brushes against his hand on the doorknob, lingering perhaps a bit longer than necessary._

 _"I'll be back in New York in another three weeks," He tells her as they make their way down the busy streets. He would be flying back to London in a few hours, and her apartment was a few blocks away._

 _"So can I see you again?" Ian looks at her hopefully, and she feels herself beaming._

 _"Of course," She says, hastily scribbling down her number and handing it to him. "Call me."_

 _He pockets the slip of paper, and they've now reached the street where they would go their separate ways._

 _"Well," Amy says with a small smile, "Guess this is goodbye then?"_

 _For a moment, they're both unsure how to leave each other, since this is only the beginning, but Ian makes the move first._

 _He leans in and kisses her cheek, and for a brief second, all she can feel are his warm lips brushing against her cold cheek._

 _When he pulls away, she swears she sees his own cheeks darkening as he murmurs, "Goodbye."_

 _She watches as he gets in the car, but not before giving her a small wave, and a look that says that this isn't over._

 _She continues to stand on the same spot, as the car gets smaller and smaller, eventually swallowed by the traffic. When it disappears, a giddy laugh escapes her throat, because she hasn't felt this happy in a long time._

 _And suddenly, everything is looking just a little bit brighter, like the shining amber in his eyes and the rich hue of his navy suit, and the brilliant red blush on her cheeks._

* * *

 _Sorry for the slightly late update... Things were going on and I forgot to update even though the chapter was written well in advance. And thanks to the continued support and reviews!_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

It's early December and midterms are getting dangerously near, and more often than not, Amy finds herself hunkering down with a cup of tea, whatever book she's supposed to be reading, and several sheets of notes, and essays and other supplementary works.

This part of college life may be stressful to some, but Amy loves every moment of it. When she was younger, before the clue hunt when she was just ordinary Amy Cahill who lived with her annoying brother and a series of rotating au pairs, she knew education was her ticket out of that mundane life. She had always loved to read, and the characters in her books were her only solace, her true friends.

But by the time the clue hunt was over, Amy knew her life would never be the same again when she assumed leadership of the Cahills.

She was right.

One insane, dangerous adventure followed another, and another, and day by day, she was beginning to give up hope of having a normal life she'd always dreamed of: high school, college, a career, dating, marriage, kids, and so on.

Was it selfish of her to want all that, especially considering the position of power she was in at the time?

Perhaps, but Amy had always comforted herself with the fact that the family would be in better hands if someone like Dan or Ian was in charge: two smart, charismatic people who somehow always knew exactly what to say and do, despite their relative youth.

Amy was never like that. Sure, she was a lot less shy and rarely stuttered anymore, but that was due to circumstances that forced her, and many Cahills of her generation, to grow up far too soon. But she wasn't a _leader_.

She certainly wasn't Grace, despite the many similarities people used to draw between them, or even like their late ancestor Madeline Cahill.

So now, even as she is surrounded by piles of books and papers, studying for several midterms and writing several more essays, she can't help but feel this is exactly where she was meant to be.

Just then, she hears a knock at the door, and rises to go get it.

"Ian," She greets as he practically stumbles into her apartment. She's been expecting him, but it's a bit later than she thought he would show up. "Busy day?"

"You wouldn't believe the sort of day I had," He groans, practically throwing off his coat. "I can't go into specifics, but it involves the Prime Minister's ex-wife, a masseuse, and four bottles of Dom Perignon. And the worst part is, the leadership honestly thought it was a good idea to put him in charge of the place when we _knew_ about his wife's predilection for men about twenty years younger than herself!"

"And you knew how…?" Amy questions, not sure she wants to hear the no doubt sordid answer.

A pause, but then-

"Because she tried to hit on me," Ian mutters grudgingly, and Amy tries to stifle her laughter. Called it.

"Tea?" She offers, deciding to be a little more sympathetic. "Or something stronger?" She asks, eying his condition.

"Stronger if you have it," Ian says gratefully, sitting wearily on the couch next to her desk. Amy watches as he exhales slightly and tugs his suit jacket off, and then his tie. He looks so _tired_ , and not in a way that shows success from his work. No, instead he looks drawn and embattled, and for a moment, she wonders if this is the way her little brother looks all the time now.

Determined to get that image out of her mind, she sets out to scour her liquor cabinet (the pantry with two bottles sitting on a slightly dusty shelf).

"So I have wine… and wine," She says, emerging from the kitchen with a bottle in either hand.

"That will do," Ian says, and pours a glass for each of them. He downs his own at an alarmingly fast rate and pours himself another generous helping, grimacing as he does so.

Amy sighs and rolls her eyes, hoping he won't be drunk by the time they go out to dinner. She turns back to her paper, and soon, Ian becomes curious as to what she is doing. When she responds, he asks,"I don't suppose I would be of much help, would I?"

"I'm actually working on a paper for my British Literature course," Amy smiles, "So you never know."

"Ah," He peers over her shoulder and asks, "Which author? Chaucer? Austen? Dickens? Shakespeare?" He then adds with a chuckle, "Rowling?"

"You'd be surprised how much there is to analyze in Harry Potter books," She says, slightly huffily, much to his amusement, and then turns back to her work.

"It's Brontë, by the way - Race and Feminism in _Jane Eyre_."

Ian groans. "Good God don't tell me-"

"-Bertha?" Amy looks up and affirms with a devilish gleam in her eye. "Exactly."

"Next you're going to tell me you believe Jane is a manifestation of what Brontë thought to be the ideal Victorian woman," Ian snorts.

"That comes up at some point during the essay," Amy says lightly.

"Bertha Mason is not a feminist icon in any sort of way," Ian argues, "She's just... well, crazy."

"That's sexist," Amy points out, though not at all offended. "She was locked up because she could not conform to society's ideal of a woman, and Rochester basically says she's insane"- Amy puts air quotes around the word "insane"- "because of her race, which he clearly views to be inferior."

"No, she was locked up because she clearly had mental issues that manifested themselves in violence (though I cannot agree with the way she was isolated from society) and Rochester blames her insanity on her mother, not her entire race," Ian fires back, something Amy is really not expecting. She knocks back the glass of wine sitting on her desk, knowing she will need it.

"Bertha was a strong, independent, and sexually-free woman before Rochester, and Rochester suppresses all that _until_ she goes insane," Amy points out passionately (though whether it's due to genuine passion, or a little liquid courage, she will never know). "He was disgusted by her sexuality!"

"I wonder what the extent of their bedroom activities would have to be for Rochester to lock her up solely on the basis of that," Ian says, tongue-in-cheek, and she shoots him a dirty look.

"That's not the point," Amy replies, slightly flustered, "Bertha is misunderstood, especially when compared to Jane, who's pure, sexually-inexperienced, and well, white."

"But that's all speculation, love," Ian drawls, the alcohol clearly having loosened his tongue, and Amy rolls her eyes at his use of the endearment. "Besides, do you honestly believe Jane is entirely pure? I mean, all that fire imagery, Jane's passion everywhere else in life, her being the only one able to save Rochester from his bed that went up in flames, then him practically _begging_ her not to leave his bedroom..." He trails off, clearly assuming that she gets the picture.

"So?" She asks defiantly.

"So you're missing the entire point of this story, my dear Cahill," Ian says, lazily leaning back on the sofa with yet another glass, as if he particularly enjoys being patronizing to a student of this exact subject. Amy would find it funny if she wasn't so annoyed.

"And that would be?" She asks, feeling a little waspish now.

"Sex," Ian says, his eyes gleaming wickedly.

"Sex?" She can only dumbly repeat the word back to him.

"Sex," Ian repeats, probably for the sheer audacity of the word itself. "Where you see moralizing Victorians, I see a tale of repression, of love, and lust, and an attraction between two people that is so strong, even death can't separate them."

He smugly takes a sip of his wine and Amy's eyes are drawn to the crimson stain left on his lips, and for a moment, Amy thinks about what it would be like to taste bittersweet rivulets of wine from his lips, dripping down his jawline, meandering past the curve of his throat-

-Woah.

She's veering into dangerous territory, and she knows it, so instead, she forces her eyes up to meet the challenge in his gaze.

Then for the sake of argument, like any good student would, she asks, "But how am I supposed to apply this in real life? Connect it to the real world, I mean. It's not like I can write about how _Jane Eyre_ is allegedly about sex, and that's what everyone does these days, so the end," She finishes sarcastically.

"I'm sure that would gain the attention of your professors," Ian chuckles, taking her comment in stride.

"But seriously though, how?" She presses. If he has a better idea, then she certainly wants to hear it, and use the slightly- patronizing, admittedly knowledgeable _(and wildly handsome)_ man sprawled on her couch for all he's worth-

-Okay, maybe that comes out sounding a bit too suggestive in her mind, which she then promptly blames on the wine.

"Well," Ian says slowly, "That sort of passion still exists fundamentally in real life, no matter how far-fetched it may sound, or how rare it may seem. You could make the argument that it must exist for a relationship to flourish."

"What do you mean by _that sort_ of passion?" Amy asks, her throat suddenly dry, so she pours another glass and promises herself to moderate her drinking this time. She takes a few sips and notice that Ian's eyes are inexplicably drawn to _her_ lips when she licks a few droplets off of them, shadows appearing in the depths of his amber eyes.

He clears his throat as if to snap out of whatever momentary daze he's in, and speaks. "I'm talking about a basic connection, that _pull_... The need to be there for each other in the darkest and best of times must be present."

Amy cynically wonders how much time and philosophical musings must have gone into this little speech. It must show on her face, because Ian hastens to try and prove his point further.

"Come now, I mean take for example that boy-toy of yours - what was his name?" He questions, "James? Jeremy?"

"Jake," Amy says flatly, "And he wasn't my boy-toy, as you very well know."

"Not the point," Ian says, perhaps a bit too quickly, "As far as I could see, that magnetism was never there, the way there was say, between Rochester and Jane. Perhaps he was more of a St. John than anything - perfect on paper, but not necessarily in real life."

Amy's stomach clenches uncomfortably for a moment, because Ian probably has no idea how close he is to the truth, but he's delivered the thrust, and it's up to her to parry.

"Okay now you're just using literature as a way to knock down guys I used to date," Amy says instead, refusing to take his bait.

"Humor me," Ian says, leaning in with his hands folded in front of him, as though waiting for her to respond. _Ah_ , she's forgotten how much he loves to debate competitively, a habit that clearly has not gone over the years.

She rolls her eyes and decides she'll humor him.

"Can you give another example?" She challenges with a glint in her eye, as though daring him to continue on with his ludicrous theory.

"Cara and I," Ian says immediately. "She was fun and all, but never quite _it_ , almost like Blanche Ingram."

She knows she's supposed to laugh at his reference, but she can't bring herself to. The way he says it - in such a blasé manner- it strikes a chord in Amy, because she remembers Cara, not as an ex, but as a brilliant, pretty girl who had helped them so many times with her knowledge of hacking and computers, and the fact that she was able to coax Ian to open up emotionally so soon after the death of his sister.

Jake did so too, Amy realizes, the knot in her stomach now twisting painfully. In so many ways, he was there as a crutch for her when Evan couldn't be, and later become an important part of her life in his own right.

But if they were so integral to their lives at some point, why had they broken up with them?

"She saved your life Ian," Amy says quietly. "In more ways than one, just the way Jake saved mine. Are you really going to argue that there was no connection?"

Ian pauses. When he meets her gaze for a moment, his eyes look troubled- dark and stormy and slightly weary of what is to come.

"That was never enough," He admits, looking anywhere but her, "In most cases, it would have been- and I tried, I really did- but I could never bring myself to. Not when there was always-" He cuts himself off, exhaling slightly.

"-Someone else," Amy whispers with understanding. Because wasn't that what she'd always felt? That nagging feeling of doubt when she was with Jake, wondering whether it was ever meant to work out?

Because when it came down to it, she was Cahill, and he wasn't, just the way Ian was a Cahill, and Cara wasn't. The great responsibilities and terrible knowledge they had... an outsider could never understand. She'd always felt horrible for bringing Jake into her world, because look at what had happened to Evan: nothing short of a painful and tragic end to his young life.

No, outsiders didn't belong in the Cahill world, with all its intrigue and infighting, and the fact that five hundred years of history was at play as the fought to save the world as they knew it every, single day.

"For what we have all gone through," Amy breathes, "You were the only one who could ever understand me."

"And you were the only one who could see me for who I was," Ian admits to her, "Even when no one else could."

Amy takes his hand in hers, in a move that's supposed to be comforting, but no actions, no words can ever make up for the horrors they have seen in their young lives.

"We fit Amy," Ian speaks softly, as though he can hardly understand the gravity of his own words, and what they mean to her. "Surely you must know by now, we fit."

His thumb caresses her inner wrist with a sort of delicate reverence that makes her shiver, and suddenly, she understands the meaning of what Ian meant by that heat, that _tension_.

It was always there, she later reflects, and she never understood the extent of it as a girl, nor as a teenager, but it was always there, just as surely as he was.

And when she left his world, _their_ world, she left a part of her with him.

* * *

 _Happy New Year to all of you! Sorry for the long delay in the update. Hopefully it was made up in part by this chapter, which contains approximately 2.5 times the amount of writing I normally include in a chapter, plus an increasingly tipsier conversation about_ Jane Eyre _that somehow turn into a sob-fest (Actually, who am I kidding? Conversations about Jane Eyre always turn into a sob-fest)._

 _Also, you know when Ian speculates as to the main point of_ Jane Eyre _? Someone did suggest as much in a literature class of mine, and suffice to say, the teacher was not amused._

 _We were, after all, mostly fourteen._

 _Plus, for those of you that are interested, my song inspiration for that last, emotionally charged bit was a section of Preisner's Requiem, specifically the last few minutes of Lacrimosa. It sounds absolutely divine and tragic at the same time, and is really quite moving. Check it out!_

 _Anyway, please review if you enjoyed this, and more than that, **let me know if there is anything I need to change, improve on, or clarify for you. My New Year's resolution is in part to become a better writer, and your feedback will help, so please, take the time to write something thoughtful for me - it will be greatly appreciated. Grazie!**_


	5. Author's Note

**Feminism, Romance, and 39 Clues  
** _An Essay_

I have noticed that in a lot of stories, and fanfiction based off of those stories, romance is depicted in a startlingly one-sided way in regards to who does the wooing, and who makes a move first, and who reacts in which way.  
Too often are there passive, blushing, lip-biting, stuttering, fluttering females, and strong, active males that _always_ make the first move, _always_ tell a woman her self-worth, and actively pursue the woman while she sits passively.  
Essentially, everything happens _to_ these women, but they do absolutely nothing.  
I have seen this on this fandom as well, and I hope to be able to change that, starting with this story, and the the portrayal of the relationship between Amy and Ian.  
My thinking is, as a girl in the first 39 Clues series, there is no doubt that Amy is definitely unsure and awkward when it comes to romance of any sort. She's a stuttering, blushing hot mess, unlike Ian, who is quite the smooth operator even at the age of fourteen.  
However, they're older now (twenty-three in the beginning of "Again") and both of them have gone through a few relationships each, so who isn't to say that Amy is almost as confident as Ian at this point? She has dated Evan, her first venture into a relationship (no matter how tragic the ending), and had a longer relationship with Jake that would probably make her a lot more experienced in every sense.  
My point is, she isn't a girl or a teenager anymore, just the way she isn't a blushing hot mess when it comes to relationships anymore.  
Of course, there is unsurety on both sides that will manifest itself in different ways, like it does in the beginning of almost any relationship, however, I will never have a character, especially a female character, that isn't aware of her self-worth, her self-beauty, and most importantly, her own desires  
Portrayals of the female sexuality are often non-existent, as if it is something to be ashamed about, and women are often painted as the objects of desire, and not as humans who feel something as natural as desire themselves.  
This needs to stop.  
Also, this thinking cannot be limited to the courtship part of romance either. Indeed, we often see female characters masquerading under the title of "strong", at least, when a man becomes involved. They are often forced to play second-string to the male, and their relationship and the portrayal of them as a couple often takes precedence to whatever skill/talent/role that made the woman "strong" in the first place. I believe this happened with Cara and Ian, which is part of the reason I never warmed to the relationship.  
What I like about 39 Clues is that the Madrigals are matrilineal, plus, Amy basically takes charge of the Cahills at some point, and does a pretty good job of uniting Cahills.  
My story will show something similar, and though there will be an underlying power struggle as she tries to balance a relationship and her duties, it will _never_ be the reason Amy gives up anything.  
My aim in writing all this is to eliminate double-standards and ideas about romance and love, starting with this 39 Clues fandom, that I have come to love and enjoy in my short time here. I hope every one of you will take this to heart, and the next time you write, remember this.

* * *

 _A/N: I will be taking this down eventually on "Again", but it will remain on the main fandom page. So let me know what you guys think; whether this is an issue, and what you think should be done about it.  
_


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"You've met someone."

Amy is somewhere within the depths of her closet, searching with single-handed determination for a dress she's not even sure that she owns at this point.

Outside the closet, dresses and shoes and jewelry litter the floor, as well as the bed where her less than determined friend is sprawled lazily, calling out bits of fashion or makeup advice when she wants. A half-eaten pizza sits on her nightstand next to several tubes of lipstick.

The reason for the overload of feminine frippery in her room?

Well, she supposes it's Ian's fault.

From what Amy could glean, when he was not dropping by her place or jetting off for branch business over the past few months, he'd actually been very busy with setting up a new gallery here in New York.

When she had asked him why here, he'd said that even though Americans were "possibly the most tasteless people on the planet-" Amy had made a slightly offended noise at that point, "-this is where the money is, especially since the value of the Pound and Euro has decreased after the absolute nightmare that is Brexit".

But business clearly seemed to be thriving, because the gallery opening had been moved to just before Christmas, and she'd even gotten an invite two weeks ago. An invite that's currently causing her more trouble than she signed up for-

-which leads her back to the statement her friend has just made, that she's met someone.

It isn't exactly accusing, the way Sonia says it, but it's curious, and perhaps a touch exasperated that she hasn't been looped into this new romantic development in Amy's life.

"We've known each other for years Sonia," Amy says from the closet, "We just... reconnected."

"And by reconnected you mean...?" Sonia waggles her eyebrows suggestively in a way that should really not be done by anyone above the age of sixteen.

Scratch that, not by anyone below sixteen either.

"It's nothing like that," Amy says, fighting to hide her blush- but not because she is embarrassed. No, it's because her mind has wandered to what her friend is alluding to more than she cares to remember. Trying to diffuse the situation, she walks out with two dress options and holds them up for scrutiny.

"But you want it to be," Her friend points out, and she laughs out loud at that. Sonia is a little too perceptive, but then again, she _is_ a law student. One day, reading people will be what she does for a living.

"I'm not denying anything," Amy chuckles, but then adds (a little more) seriously, "He's a good friend Son- I mean, we've been through a lot, and he's always been there for me, you know?"

"I get it," Her friend says understandingly, and Amy highly doubts she actually _does_ get it. It's not that Sonia isn't empathetic- far from it, in fact- but what Amy and Ian have gone through... no one other than a Cahill will ever be able to understand.

Her mind goes back to that moment three weeks ago when they'd had perhaps one of the most intimate conversations she'd ever had with anyone.

They hadn't talked about what transpired between them since.

Instead, it's as though they've come to some sort of unspoken understanding about their situation, and Amy tries not to think about how his hand caressed hers, or how close to tears she had been…

But she's not going to be maudlin about this. She's been invited to a (probably ritzy) gallery opening as the date of the owner, and she'll be damned if she doesn't have a good time.

As she's going back into her closet, Sonia calls behind her, "And no, by the way, they both look like my Italian grandma's dresses."

Amy snorts.

"So what does this Ian do, anyway?" Sonia asks when Amy comes out once more, "Is he an artist- oh and don't wear that, it makes you look like a tomato or a carrot or something- or is art just a hobby?"

"He collects, actually," Amy corrects, "And he already has a successful gallery in London." She decides that adding the bit of being the leader of one-fourth of the most powerful family in the world may not be a good idea.

Sonia lets out a low whistle. "He's twenty-three and already opening his second gallery? Must be some sort of genius," she comments.

"Something like that." Amy's lips twist into an ironic smile. Well, she supposes that one could equate Cahill with genius.

"And he's hot," Sonia points out.

"Mmhmm," Amy finds herself agreeing distractedly as she sorts through a collection of scarves she didn't even know she had, but then snaps to attention when she realizes what her friend has just said. "Wait, how do you know- I mean where did you get that idea?"

She can practically feel Sonia's smirk radiating through the closet. "Because, dear Amy, I took the liberty of going through your phone and when I saw several photos with some hot guy I've never seen before, I put two and two together."

"You snoop," Amy accuses.

Sonia simply smirks some more as she reclines languidly back onto Amy's bed.

"Future lawyer, remember?"

When Amy steps out of the closet once again, her friend's eyes shine with approval.

"What do you think?" Amy asks.

"I think," Sonia says slowly as her lips curl upwards, "If this friend isn't falling all over you by the end of the night, you may want to rethink who you choose to 'reconnect' with."

* * *

Amy arrives at the venue later than she would have liked, but the effort is well worth it, as Sonia tells her before seeing her off with a loud smack on the cheek and a whisper to let her know if she ever makes it back home tonight.

She's wearing a short silver dress that makes her feel like a princess and an enchantress all in one. Paired with some strappy heels and a tasteful clutch, she looks (and feels) very much like a woman about town.

She enters through the glass doors, and is immediately struck by how _opulent_ her surroundings are. Everything is gilded gold and glass, and she's pretty sure one painting, or even one light fixture, costs more than her entire apartment.

Several guests have already arrived and the well-dressed (and well-heeled) crowd is socializing, champagne and hor d'oeuvres flowing as freely as the conversation. Many are walking around and taking in the art, which Amy has to admit, is magnificent. Whomever Ian had chosen to showcase his opening had real talent, and Amy won't be surprised if he or she soon becomes a household name.

And in the middle of everything, is _him_.

Ian looks absolutely dashing in a steel-gray suit that brings out the warmth of his cinnamon-toned skin, and when he sees her, he smiles widely, dimples appearing on his cheeks ( _adorable,_ Amy thinks).

He says something to the couple he's currently greeting before striding towards her. As he nears, his gaze almost immediately falls to her lips and Amy knows she made a good call when she decided to wear a crimson lipstick she would have considered otherwise too bold.

"Amy," he greets her. "I'm so glad you could make it."

He kisses her once on each cheek, his lips lightly brushing against her skin in a manner that Amy thinks is quite continental, like something out of those old movies about high society.

"I wouldn't miss it for anything," Amy beams, frowning slightly as she adds, "although I may have to leave early… finals are coming up," she adds in response to the questioning look on his face.

"That's fine," Ian waves her concern off. "As long as you're here, I'm happy."

"That's good, and you've done such a great job with this," Amy tells him honestly. "I don't know anything about art, but everything looks so amazing!"

Ian chuckles at that. "That's a compliment coming from you, then." After a pause, he looks as if he's about to say something, but then an older man in a tux comes up to him and whispers something in his ear. Ian nods, looking a little disappointed, and then turns to Amy.

"I'm sorry, but apparently some important investor has arrived and-"

Amy waves him off. "Go do your thing," she tells him lightly. "I'll be fine on my own."

She turns to walk away, but Ian catches her hand in his, and she turns around.

"By the way," he murmurs, and there's something about the way he says it, the intimacy of his gaze, that makes her heart beat a little faster. "You look absolutely lovely tonight."

"I can't believe you'd still use a line like that," She rolls her eyes good-naturedly.

In response, he leans in until his lips nearly graze her ear and she would be lying if she definitely doesn't feel her own pulse now. Trying not to look anything but calm and collected, she tilts her head slightly towards him, and can see his eyes glimmering golden, and a hint of a smile on his lips as he whispers as if telling her a secret, " _It worked for me once, didn't it?"_

He walks away, leaving her flustered and blushing, all while there are people surrounding her, some of them eyeing her curiously.

* * *

The first thing she does afterwards is shoot a quick text to Sonia, saying that she's arrived. The reply comes surprisingly fast

 _How's the art?_

Amy snorts and texts back: _Are u really asking me this?_

 _Lol no how is Ian?_

Of course she would ask that.

A: _Fine thanks for asking_

S: _That's all?_

A: _Pretty much. I think i'll go see some art now_

S: _Wait dont leave me_

A: _And btw, thanks for that dress suggestion_

S: _HE LIKED IT, DIDNT HE? I KNEW IT!_

A: _Bye Sonia_

And with that, she puts her phone back in her clutch, a small grin on her face. She might as well leave her friend hanging, especially considering she's not sure how the night will end herself.

* * *

Afterwards she walks around for some time, admiring art she cannot afford, and eating canapés and other hors d'oeuvres she equally can't afford (was that caviar on the pâté?). The general atmosphere of the crowd conveys that this whole affair has been a success, and when Ian stands in the center of the room to make his toast, he is met with warm applause, including from Amy.

"I want to thank you all for coming today," Ian begins. "New York is a very special city, and it has recently become very dear to me. Opening a gallery here seemed only natural, and I hope the art is worthy of the city's beauty and magnificence."

She hears an approving murmur among the crowd.

"To New York," Ian says, raising his glass to toast, and for a moment, his eyes connect with hers before he adds, "And new beginnings."

"Hear, hear," Some guests say loudly, clinking their glasses with one another.

A small smile grows on Amy's lips as she raises her glass towards him.

 _To new beginnings._

This is Ian in his element- charming, charismatic, handsome...

He'll make a girl very lucky someday, Amy reflects, watching him in what she hopes is an inconspicuous manner. Her stomach churns a little at that thought.

Is it wrong that she wants it- that girl- to be her?

Oh, they definitely have chemistry, but chemistry alone can't make a relationship survive. No- a relationship needs to be built on a firm foundation to flourish, and theirs is already rocky at best. Their history, her abandonment of all of them, his position…

The problems are endless.

And yet, her dreams, her thoughts, are being consumed by his beguiling eyes and bewitching figure-

-That's currently making its way over to her?

"Amy," Ian approaches her. "I hope you're enjoying yourself?" he inquires sincerely, and she can't help but smile because despite her thoughts (of him), the atmosphere is infectious, and she's not lying if she's thought about why she even stopped attending parties like this one.

"Oh I am," she says a little breathlessly. "Looking at the art, meeting new people-"

"-Good," Ian interrupts, and she's a little surprised, "Because I have someone who I want you to meet, or rather, who wants to meet you."

Her eyebrows raise.

"Really?" she asks skeptically. But before she can say anything more, Ian has taken her by the hand and is leading her to where a woman is standing in a mostly unoccupied corner of the gallery.

She's elegantly dressed and looks almost ageless with dark hair and alert blue eyes, although if Amy had to guess, she is at the older end of the spectrum.

"Amy, this is Therese Gauthier, an old family friend-" Ian says the word _family_ with a significant look in her direction, "- And Therese, I believe you've met Amy once already."

The woman- Therese- laughs warmly. "Only when she was a little girl. I hardly think she'd remember!"

Amy smiles, slightly uncomfortable, and the woman studies her for long moment before speaking.

"I've wanted to meet you for a long time, you know."

"You have?" she says bemusedly, looking out of the corner of her eye to see Ian's expression, which doesn't seem all that surprised.

"Oh yes. You see, I knew your grandmother, Grace."

Now there was no doubt left in Amy's mind; This woman was a Cahill.

"How did you know her?" She can hardly keep herself from asking. Grace… the benevolent grandmother who had made her childhood just a little more bearable. A few hours with her could have kept the light glowing within Amy for days.

She often thought about the late matriarch of the Cahill family, although her view of her had shifted somewhat. During their adventures over the years, shocking details had come out about the woman she once thought she knew so well, and it had changed Amy' perspective.

"She was a mentor of sorts," Therese explains, "when I was younger. We were in different branches, but she was always willing to help other women like herself." A fond smile appears on Therese's lips, as if she's reminiscing about something. "Grace was such a strong woman. Nothing could ever get in her way- but you know that of course. I can see the same qualities in you."

 _What?_

"I… I wouldn't say I'm much like her," Amy says uneasily.

Therese smiles."You know, when I met you, you had just started reading, and were willing to do _anything_ to find a quiet place to read. Once, you even climbed a tree in Grace's home and refused to come down, no matter what your mother or father said."

She doesn't remember that at all.

"Did I ever come down?"

"Only once you'd finished the book," Therese chuckles warmly. "You see? You're far more like Grace than you think. You were, after all, practically brought up by her!"

Amy frowns a little, but doesn't bother to correct her. The truth was, she had hardly been brought up by Grace. In between her grand, and often secretive adventures around the world, Grace would hardly have had any time to care for two orphans.

Therese then peers between Ian and Amy, a curious expression taking hold of her features.

"I had no idea you two had been in contact," she says, almost cautiously.

"Just over the past few months," Ian replies quickly. Amy's just not sure where this is going.

"Here in New York, I assume," Therese says, and then asks Amy, "although, what is it that you are currently doing?"

"Studying literature," Amy says, "In Columbia."

Therese's eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch at Amy's answer.

"And you've been seeing each other for the past few months…" Therese muses. "So she knows about-" She turns to Ian for confirmation and whispers something in a lower tone that Amy can't make out, but it's clear even Ian wasn't expecting whatever she said.

Therese pretends not to notice Ian's thunderstruck expression afterwards, and continues on blithely, "Should you wish to come back, and I know I speak for Ian on this-" Ian winces slightly, "-when I say that you will have the other leaders' fully support behind you."

Amy tries to get a word in, but to no avail. "Your talents are wasted here, _ma cherie_ , studying-" Therese's lips curl upwards slightly in distaste, "-literature. And besides-" she now turns completely towards Amy, the full force of her icy blue eyes on her, "-You are, after all, Grace Cahill's granddaughter."

Amy can't handle it anymore. Her heart is pounding and she feels as though she can hardly breath, and she manages a weak "excuse me" before practically fleeing the room out the double doors leading to the balcony.

Outside, Amy is breathing heavily, trying to steady herself against the brick wall. She is assailed by memories of the past and present, and God knows what the future holds if this _woman_ \- Therese- had her way.

It was so easy to blithely invite her to rejoin the very group she sought to flee. Didn't she understand the trauma Amy and the others had gone through over the span of four years?

They were _children_ , for God's sake.

It had taken Amy years to realize that she had been a survivor and a victim in equal measure, because who relied on children to save the world?

 _Grace had_ , A voice whispers in her head, and this time, Amy doesn't squash that thought, because it's true, isn't it?

Grace was the one who'd thrown them in the race to find the 39 Clues and somehow unite the family. They'd done it, somehow, but at the cost seeing death and destruction and chaos all before Amy had even started high school.

And afterwords…

Amy looks out into the gardens, savoring the peace she'd once longed for, reassuring herself that no matter what happens, she's _never_ coming back.

Never again.

* * *

It's some time before her peace is interrupted.

"That was quite rude, you know," someone says lightly behind her, and she whirls around.

"What else is rude is you not telling me you were here before speaking," she fires back, crossing her arms and unwilling to look anywhere near him.

"Touche," Ian replies, amused, much to her irritation. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Her gaze softens a little. "Not tonight." She hopes that's a clear enough dismissal for him, but to no one's surprise, he doesn't budge, but rather, comes closer.

"Dance with me," he says, and she simply huffs, not deigning to respond.

"Dance with me," he repeats.

She sighs. "Why?"

What sort of game is he playing?

"Because you haven't danced with me yet and I daresay whatever happened back there will continue to bother that pretty head of yours all night unless you have some sort of distraction."

He steps forward holding his hand out.

"And I'm offering to be that distraction."

* * *

He is a divine dancer, as it turns out, and smoothly maneuvers her around the rapidly-clearing area in the middle of the gallery that's been designated as the dance floor. The band plays a slow jazz number as a man croons into the microphone. Other couples twirl around them, but none with their combined grace and finesse, and she feels as though her fairytale evening has been complete.

"I don't know if anyone's ever told you," she says looking up at him, "but you're a excellent dancer."

He takes her compliment more than in stride. "Am I?" he says lowly, and leans in. "And what else am I?"

Oh, they're veering into dangerous territory, but she's enjoying this far too much.

"This isn't an ego-stoking session, Ian," she murmurs, refusing to tear her eyes from the ones that never looked away from her.

"No," he looks at her almost thoughtfully. "This is far, far more."

Amy can only let out a soft _oh_ at that, because it can't be more clear-

She wants him. She's known that for a while on some level, but now the throbbing she feels is only exacerbated by his presence, his scent, the feel of his hand resting at the small of her back, being pressed close to him, close enough to feel the _heat_ …

This is what they have. _This_ is it- everything she's ever wanted and more, and some part of her has known that since they were barely teenagers.

It's so easy to wear a mask of indifference- indeed, that is the mask she's put on all these years, pretending outwardly that things like this don't bother her- on the contrary in fact.

But inside, she is _human_ , a person with real feelings, all fire and passion, craving love and warmth and _affection_ -

Because that's not base. That's being human.

Suddenly, the music stops, and they are forced to pull apart.

Somewhere in the room, a clock chimes ten times.

 _Ten o'clock._

She's forcibly reminded of Cinderella for what she is about to do next.

"I have to go," she breathes, and for a moment, he looks confused.

"Class, Ian," she reminds him, gathering her wits, "I have class early tomorrow."

He removes his hand from her waist. "Of course," he says, his face falling a little. "Let me walk you out."

"Oh that's-"

"-I insist," He says firmly, leading her out of the loud room, and helping her with her coat before the pair of them exited the building to hail a cab for her.

As they wait outside in the cold, Amy nearly trips on the curb, and Ian grabs her hand to keep her from falling.

"Be careful," is all he says, and Amy internally curses at her _shoe_ , of all things, ruining what could have been a beautiful moment.

Silence falls between them, and Amy is keenly aware of all the things she never got to say, and she realizes she won't be seeing him until next year, and then- her mind starts to panic- and then who knows how long it will be-

She decides to make the leap.

"Thank you," she says softly, looking up at him.

He smiles at her, pleased. "It was my pleasure."

"No, for everything," Amy clarifies, blushing slightly. "I mean- the gala was great- but for the past two months. I never realized how much I missed this… I missed you." The confession spills out of her, but he doesn't look afraid. No, he looks-

He's _touched_.

"When I saw you on that street," Ian confesses (Amy realizes he's still holding her hand), "I couldn't believe it was you. We all thought- I wondered for some time whether any of us would ever see you again, and when you came back into my life like that…" He trails off, and she feels a smile blooming on her face, hardly conscious of the fact that a cab has pulled into the curb, until Ian tells her so, and opens the door for her.

"Well," she turns to him, struggling a little with what to say now, when it feels like everything that could possibly have been said is said. "Merry Christmas, Ian." She leans in to kiss his cheek, her lips brushing softly against his skin.

"Happy Christmas, Amy," he wishes her, not letting go of her hand until she's inside the car.

Amy is leaning over to give the driver her address, when Ian suddenly speaks.

"Wait, Amy," he says urgently. At the tone of his voice, she hastily asks the driver if he can wait a moment before she looks back at him.

"I'm going to London over the holidays," he says, clearly nervous, "And I was wondering… if you'd like to accompany me. At the look on her face he hastens to say, "It won't be anything major or fancy- just a small party for Christmas and-" he adds, "-no Cahill business whatsoever."

He's looking at her so hopefully, and her heart leaps and sings all at once, and suddenly, Christmas is looking a whole lot better, because she gets to spend it with _him_.

"I'd love that."

* * *

 _Thank you all for your kind reviews, and for waiting so long for an update!_

 _Now to address a couple things:_

 _Firstly, and perhaps most importantly, I want you all to know that strongly encourage constructive reviews of my stories. I know a lot has been going down, and I want everyone to know that not only will I increase the standard as well as the amount of my reviews, I hope others will do the same for me. That way, we can all grow as writers as well as readers.  
If I think that you wrote a substantial amount in your review, or something worth replying to, I think you should be commended for it and will do so on this story. If not, I will at least reply to you in private.  
However, I will say this: while I encourage criticism on writing, criticism on anyone's character will not be tolerated, as that is crossing the line. We are all a diverse bunch of individuals that are bound by our shared love of a fandom, but since we really don't know each other, I hardly think it's fair to make assumptions about each others' characters.  
Does that work? Let me know!_

 _I also wanted to thank everyone who weighed on the essays I had previously written regarding feminism. It is a topic dear to me, and I hope everyone could reevaluate how they viewed the main pair in most of the 39 Clues fics, as well as the way we write._

 _Next, everyone seemed to enjoy Jane Eyre in the previous chapter, so thanks for that feedback, and to answer Mlle Etincelle's query as to whether Amian will mimic Jane Eyre and Mr. Rochester's relationship- good God, I hope not. Way too much dysfunction in that relationship.  
_

 _To Rival Argentica:  
Thank you for reviewing… that was probably the most constructive comment I've received to date, and it helped me think over some things. Yeah you're right about me having to show rather than tell. I tend to write long rambly bits that give way too much insight as to what's going on in Amy's mind rather than showing it through her interactions with Ian and others. It's harder for me (and probably lots of other writers) to portray dialogue and action as opposed to thought, because I want it to be as accurate and genuine as possible, but I will certainly endeavor to try harder in the future! Also, I think this chapter was a bit longer… 4,000+ words, and I'm definitely trying to get in more content in the future. _

_Next Stop, London!_


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Amy knows that everyone says New York is the most wonderful at this time of the year, with the tree and the skating rink and the general sense of holiday cheer and the bustle, but London during the holidays is truly magical.

Snow covers the rooftops and dusts the streets as mothers and children bundle up to do Christmas shopping and businessmen unwind from long days in cheery pubs. There are trees and wreaths and garlands almost everywhere, and the spirit, from what she can see, is infectious. Even Ian seems happier now that he's back in his hometown.

On the drive from Heathrow, Amy's face is pressed against the window nearly the whole time as she takes in sights like the Parliament building and Big Ben, the London Eye, St. Paul's, Westminster Abbey, and so much more.

"You don't have to keep doing that," Ian says wryly as she lets out yet another gasp when they pass by Trafalgar Square, Admiral Nelson standing at attention in the middle surrounded by four lions.

"I'm sorry," Amy says giddily, "But this all so new for me!"

"Haven't you been to London before?" Ian asks. "And travelled half the world for that matter?"

Amy turns to face him. "Yes well, the last time I came here, I was too busy trying to decipher Shakespeare and not get blown up by you and about twenty other semi-murderous people."

He opens his mouth to retort, but nothing comes out, and he promptly snaps it shut.

Ian's home is a well-appointed townhouse in a charmingly-appointed part of Belgravia (and Amy's watched enough period dramas to know that Belgravia is in an _excellently_ appointed part of London- full of important people and embassies and whatnot), and the first thing Amy sees as they enter the house is a large knocker on the door with a rather gaudy coat of arms embossed on it. It has a badger head of sorts, surrounded by leaves (olive branches?) and some obscure Latin text, with what looks to be a rat stuffed in its mouth. She's pretty sure this is not an accurate description at all, but to be fair, she can't otherwise tell what it is.

"I didn't know the Kabras had a coat of arms," Amy says, struggling to say so with a straight face.

"The house was sold to my father by the Duke of something-or-the-other- don't mock me," he says defensively as Amy bursts into laughter.

"I'm sorry," she chortles, "but this whole place is pretentious enough as it is, and then there's a coat of arms at the door- next you're going to tell me you actively enjoy caviar or only believe in loose-leaf tea like Lapsang Souchong or something-"

"-I do actually," Ian mutters as he unlocks the door to let her in.

Amy's laughter echoes throughout the house.

His house is not entirely what she expects. The ridiculous knocker and posh address should have been some giveaway, but she honestly thought he would have an apartment that's all chrome and glass and steel- a real bachelor's pad, but that's definitely not the case.

It's not, well, _fussy_ , but it's spacious and airy, and yet warm and comfortable all while being tastefully decorated in a manner that would suggest he had hired someone, except Amy had seen his gallery, and knew that this was all him.

Her room is on the second floor, and the room is is mostly white, with splashes of color- an impressionist painting, a lamp, a folding screen. She puts her suitcase in the corner and decides to freshen up from her trip before going down.

"What do you fancy for dinner?" Ian asks as she makes her way down the stairs, "Italian? Thai?" He's perusing through what appears to be a large amount of takeout menus

"I never pictured you to be the takeout type," Amy says, sitting next to him.

"I'm a Londoner in my twenties. Of course I'm the take-away type," he replies wryly, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"I just figured you had a chef or only dined in Michelin-star restaurants or something," Amy shrugs.

"Well you just keep learning more about me, don't you?" He says, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

"In that case, Thai sounds good."

The food, once it arrives, is consumed unceremoniously on the couch, as they talk about what Amy wants to do while she's in London.

She's gone into the kitchen to throw away the takeout containers when the call comes. She's honestly about to go back in, but stops short when she hears a panicked and slightly harassed note in Ian's voice, and what more, he's addressing the person on the other line in rapid French.

Once she's sure she hears an " _au revoir"_ , she hesitantly walks back in, to see Ian standing in the middle of the room, staring at the phone in his hand.

"You speak French?"

It's the only thing she can think to say, without asking the obvious question right off the bat.

Ian looks up. "I'm an Englishman. Of course I speak French," he deadpans.

She chooses to ignore the obvious irony in the statement and goes in for the kill.

"Why were you right now?"

"Erm-" He looks cautiously at her for a moment before decided to go ahead, "- some issues in our Paris stronghold."

"Oh." A pause, then- "Is that where Therese works from?"

"I- yes," he replies, almost reluctantly, looking as though he really wants this conversation to end.

"You never told me," Amy says, walking closer to him, "what did she whisper to you- at the party- when she asked you if I knew about something?"

He looks at her with something akin to mild astonishment. "You want to talk about this now," he states rather than asks.

"Yeah."

"Threats to the branch," he says.

"That's normal… isn't it?" Despite her casual questioning, somewhere inside of her, she feels the old fear returning- the familiar whispers of _Grace, Irina, William, Evan_ echoing in her mind once more, but it's quieter. Perhaps the demons are subsiding within her, maybe due to Ian's renewed presence in her life, or maybe she's become desensitized to it after all these years… but perhaps she's finally ready to face it again.

"Not if it's coming from another branch," Ian replies to her previous question. Amy frowns.

"What do you mean?"

Something hardens in his eyes momentarily, and he's looking at her with something akin to frustration, but it's gone in a moment, as though it never happened, and wasn't a slip of his emotions.

"I can't say much more," he tells her apologetically. "You don't have code-word clearance. That's why I couldn't tell you-"

-Of course," Amy says quickly. "No problem."

Maybe it's for the best, she thinks as they clear up the living room, and shortly after, head up to their respective beds.

But the entire time, the final question lingers in her thoughts: _Why did Therese Gauthier think Ian had told her information that needed code-word clearance, when she definitely didn't have it?_

* * *

The rest of the week goes by in a blur, and Amy is having more fun and learning more about Ian than ever before, but one thing stands out more than the rest: During the time spend in London, she realizes that _this_ is Ian in his natural habitat- relaxed and far more carefree.

She's always thought he lived a glamorous life, but as it turns out, his jobs (art dealer and branch leader) are the only glamorous things in his life- for all intents and purposes, he's a pretty normal guy. Of course, normality for him is a bit more opulent and gilded than for most people, including herself, but that doesn't stop him from hailing a cab, or ordering takeout every so often.

He humors her by taking her to typical tourist attractions like the London Eye ("I've never actually been inside this death trap, you know"), Buckingham Palace ("Which I _have_ been inside on several occasions"), and on one particularly cold day, Madame Tussauds ("Don't you have one of these in New York?" "Yeah, but it's more fun here." "Dear God.").

Sure, she may be indulging her inner child, but to be fair, the last time she came here, she _was_ a child and was dealing with far more "adult" issues (i.e. not getting killed), so she cheerfully takes Ian's whining in stride before she drags him off to the next tourist trap.

* * *

Christmas morning dawns clear and crisp, and Amy is greeted with a fresh blanket of snow enveloping everything outside when she wakes up. They had spent much of the previous evening (and well into the night) partying, but for once, a few hours of good sleep has dispelled any lingering traces of a hangover.

She decides that a day like this is not worth spending in bed a moment longer, and figures she might as well treat Ian to a proper American breakfast and favorite Christmas tradition of hers.

With that thought, Amy goes downstairs.

Ian stumbles into the kitchen thirty minutes later, freshly dressed and shaved, but somehow still looking the worse for wear.

"Merry Christmas Ian!" Amy practically sings as she stirs pancake batter.

"Yes, Happy Christmas to you too," Ian mutters, his eyes then falling on the bowl she's stirring.

"You didn't tell me you could cook," he says accusingly, as if she's been holding out on him.

"I can't," she replies matter-of-factly, "But I can make pancakes."

"Brilliant," is all he says before puttering about the kitchen making himself tea with a surprising lack of grace.

It's only after two cups of tea (loose leaf, highly caffeinated, and inordinately expensive, from what Amy can gather) that he regains his usual (somewhat) good humor.

"What are those?" He asks, eying her fuzzy socks decorated with a reindeer head and pom poms.

"Christmas socks!" She replies cheerfully, ladeling a large spoonful of batter onto the cast-iron skillet.

"You know," he comments, "I've found you to be a quite reasonable person on most days, but something tells me that you're one of those people who sickeningly adore Christmas."

"What gave it away?" She deadpans.

"The socks, mostly."

She throws her head back in laughter, and then realizes that she's about to burn the pancakes on the stove, employs some colorful swears she's picked up in New York, and then rushes to save them.

The whole time, a fond smile lingers on Ian's lips.

Afterwards, when they've consumed as many pancakes as Amy could make (Ian practically moaning in appreciation at the first bite), they're sitting around in the lounge, too full and lazy to do anything but talk.

It's then that Amy remembers once more that it's Christmas, and that she's forgotten one very important part. So she jumps up and races upstairs, Ian calling "what are you doing?" after her.

She doesn't answer, instead coming downstairs with a painstakingly-wrapped box that she hands to Ian.

"I got you something," she tells him, and he looks at her, bemused.

"Amy, you didn't have to-"

"It's nothing," Amy says, waving her hand, "Besides, I thought you might appreciate the story behind it."

He unwraps it meticulously, and then opens the box to reveal a miniature portrait of a woman. She's quite striking, with golden hair and brilliant blue eyes, but what makes it unique is that she is clearly garbed in a traditional Indian sari as well as jewelry, even including an elaborate nose ring common to the region.

"It's exquisite," Ian murmurs looking at her, and then at the portrait, holding it to the light, already starting to examine it with a keen eye. "Late eighteenth century, English-style painting, although the painter had clearly been to India, and the woman…? He trailed off, looking questionly at Amy.

"You're right about all of it," Amy says, and then explains,"In her final years, Grace had started a genealogy project of sorts to map our entire family tree, and along the way, she collected a lot of artifacts, and I thought you might appreciate this one."

"I still don't get it," Ian says.

"Her name was Elizabeth Fitzharding, and her father was a member of the Lucian branch, and served under Lord Cornwallis in India. She grew up there, and fell in love with a local man, and married him."

At Ian's curious look, she finishes with a smile, "The man's name was Rajendra Singh Kabra.

Understanding finally dawns across his face. "That would make her…" He trails off in wonderment, looking down at the old painting again.

"Your ancestor," Amy finishes for him, "and the matriarch of the Kabra branch of the Lucians."

"This… this is honestly the best gift I've ever gotten," he says, and she realizes that he's touched. "Thank you."

It's then that Amy notes that they're quite close to each other, having leaned in so to examine the painting better, and when she looks up, it's at the same time as him, and suddenly, they're mere inches from each other, so close that-

"-Which reminds me," Ian says, clearing his throat slightly, and stepping away from Amy to go to a closet, and withdraw two items: a wreath, and an ornately wrapped package.

"I know I seem like a bit of a Christmas Scrooge," he tells her honestly, "but this is for you." He gives her package.

"Thank you," Amy says with a grin, knowing better than to argue with him, or tell him that he "shouldn't have". When Ian puts his mind to something, it's very hard to dissuade him from it, something she's learned from past experience, and then all over again in recent months.

"Well, open it," Ian says impatiently, and only then does Amy realize that she's been caught up in her thoughts once more. So she obliges, and tears the paper away to reveal a book- a _very_ old book. Her curiosity is immediately piqued as she opens it to the title page, and she reads the title, and then the date of publication-

" _No_ ," Amy breathes, and Ian doesn't quite know how to take the sheer stunned look of disbelief she has on her face.

"This-this is-" she can hardly stop herself from stammering, "-an original…?" She looks up at him questioningly, as though for a final confirmation.

"Yes…" he ventures cautiously.

"Oh my god, this is amazing," she gushes, tracing her hand down the spine of a first edition copy of Elizabeth Gaskell's "North and South".

She then looks up at him. "How did you know…?" She trails off, unable to articulate her sheer amazement.

"Simple deduction, really," Ian says, with no little smugness.

"Don't brag. How long did it take?"

"Weeks," he admits. "I knew you liked the classics, especially early feminist works, but we both know how you feel about Brontë-" Amy rolls her eyes, "- Wollstonecraft is too preachy for your taste,and Austen, as good as every female who considers herself to be even somewhat of a literature buff would rush to assure me, is a bit frivolous to you, but throw in an economic subplot and some nonsense about the _plight of the workers_ -" Ian can't help say the last bit with a touch of disdain, and she giggles, because even after all these years, he's _such_ a snob, "- and you have a book that Amy Cahill likes."

"Not likes," she amends quickly, "loves." She looks up at him and says warmly, "Seriously though, thank you Ian. I mean it." She punctuates her remark with a quick kiss on his cheek, noting that a light blush on his features afterwards.

It's then that her eyes fall on the wreath behind him.

"What's the wreath for, then?" Amy says, pointing to the lovely arrangement of winter flowers and holly sitting on the counter.

Ian looks at the wreath, and then back at her, and she notes that his expression has darkened considerably, and it's as though the temperature of the room has fallen by twenty degrees.

For a moment, she wonders what such an innocuous question could have done to offend him, but then-

"Natalie," Amy breathes with realization and embarrassment for not having figured it out sooner. After all, where else would Ian go with a floral wreath on Christmas day?

"Yes," he says, his voice a little hoarse. He hastily clears his throat. "I visit every Christmas."

When she doesn't immediately reply, he hastens to continue. "I mean, of course I go other times, but Christmas is-"

"-Ian, I want to come too," she bursts out.

He looks at her with sharp disbelief. "You do?"

Amy shifts uncomfortably. "Well, I've visited everyone else's grave, but I never came back to Natalies'," she admits guiltily.

"So you're coming, then?" He checks once more, and she nods hesitantly.

"I mean- if you're okay wi-"

"Of course," he says rushedly.

* * *

An hour later, they're in the car, and London quickly passes by as the venture further into the countryside.

The drive is spent in silence, until -

"She would have been near twenty-one, you know," Ian says abruptly, "Natalie."

Amy looks up at him.

"Sometimes it feels as though everything we did to fight the Vespers, to rescue the hostages, it was all for nothing," he continues on, tragedy infused in every word, tragic because of the pain he must feel every day for having lost, from what Amy had gathered, the person he was more close to than anyone else in the world.

"It wasn't for nothing, and Natalie was so brave, Ian… so strong, until the very end." Amy knows what she's saying is a futile attempt at consolation, because given a choice between his sister being brave, and being alive, she knew Ian would choose the latter every single time.

But Ian's expression becomes less stormy, and almost thoughtful at her words.

"She had the sort of strength my mother never had- the will and ability to do good. I don't even think I have it."

"You do, Ian. Don't sell yourself short."

"It's hard not to after a lifetime of questioning it thanks to my parents," he laughs bitterly. "I think I have enough mummy issues alone to send a shrink into therapy."

"I have a feeling the same could apply to any of us," she says quietly. He turns to look sharply at her.

"Therapy?"

"You never thought about it?"

"I never knew who to turn to," he admits. "I could hardly bring myself to open up to Cara at times, let alone a therapist." He pauses before asking, "Did you?"

"Yes." She admits the fact without any shame. In truth, it had taken her a long time to reconcile herself with the fact that therapy was necessary after years running around and saving the world, and then somehow being put in charge of it. Sometimes, she still wakes up filled with terror after nightmare, memories of times gone by, and prays to God that the blood will wash off her hands and body, and that the scars etched in her mind will magically disappear, but it never happens.

Healing is a gradual process, or so she was told by her first therapist, a former active Cahill agent who knew what people like Amy went through, and was selected for her understanding and discretion. It may have been a gradual process, but, Amy had wondered at the time, did it ever get completely better?

 _No_ , she realizes now. But any part she can play in offering Ian comfort is something she will do gladly.

So she grasps his hand and caresses it in a soothing motion, and he lets out a breath he's been holding in. "Ian," she says, "What we went through… it didn't just make us saviors or survivors- it made us victims. There is nothing to be ashamed of."

He doesn't reply, but he doesn't let go of her hand either.

The car begins to slow as they exit a span of trees, and that's when Amy sees it: the Kabra Mansion looms ahead in all its harsh beauty. It looks like almost any other great house, except cold, austere, and wholly abandoned.

"Do you use the mansion?" She asks, and Ian doesn't even look at it before answering.

"It's been kept in a functional state. There are far too many documents and other objects in there for me to do anything short of torching it-" his eyes darken as he adds, "-especially considering what it came to symbolize when my parents were branch leaders."

Amy lets out a soft _oh_. Though she'd never personally set foot in the Kabra Mansion, she'd heard stories about what went on in the house, especially underground in its numerous bunkers that were used for purposes so questionable, it made a CIA black site sound like a carnival in comparison.

For Ian, and even Natalie for that matter, to have to grow up in such an environment… she shudders at its implications, and Ian says no more for the time being.

* * *

Amy's eyes are stinging with tears as they exit the car, out into the freezing cold. Though not much north from London, she can already feel the difference in weather. Snow is piled on every surface, and is accumulating fast, the wind is practically howling through the trees.

The house is in the distance now, and it looks like they're about to go into the woods. They walk deeper and deeper, until Amy's almost sure they've lost their way, or might encounter a wild animal, but suddenly, ahead is a small clearing, with what looks to be a lake frozen over, and a single headstone.

"She loved this place," Ian says, not looking at her, but instead around the little clearing he's brought them to. "She always hated anything vaguely natural, but this place was her exception- her only solace."

 _From the family and her parents_ , is what remains unspoken, but Amy knows anyway. It's strange- being a part of the most powerful family in the world was guaranteed to give you power, and yet, look at all the lives it had destroyed.

Once upon a time, there had been a fourteen year-old that had lived and breathed, who had hopes and desires and fears like anyone else, but she never got to fully experience what life had to offer, by virtue of her birth.

Amy has never felt so bitter towards her own family at the moment.

They near the middle of the clearing, where a tombstone lies, reading "Natalie Kabra, 1997-2010, " _I shall not be triumphed over."_

"Cleopatra," Ian says quietly.

"What?"

"The quote," he explains. "It was by Cleopatra. They were millennia apart, but Natalie admired her so much."

"It fits her." Amy can say no more, not when confronted with a tragic reminder of her- _their-_ family's past, and she was struck by just how _unfair_ it all was- especially to a loving older brother who would never see his little sister again, because she had gone too soon.

"I think she would have liked you, you know," Ian murmurs, kneeling in front of the grave, tenderly brushing snow off the headstone.

"She used to refer to me and Dan as peasants," Amy says almost fondly, and at that, a ghost of a smile appears on Ian's face.

"I used to as well," he reminds her, a bitter expression taking hold of his features, "but I changed. I grew- that's the thing isn't it? I grew."

"And she never got the chance to."

"No," he says softly, looking at the the grave. "She didn't."

And with that, Ian lays the wreath gently in front of the tombstone, and murmurs, "Happy Christmas Natalie."

Amy's eyes are stinging with tears as they leave, but this time, it's not from the cold.

* * *

When they come back from the mansion, the mood has risen slightly, though Amy is careful to give Ian a wide enough berth. She'd seen lots of people die over the years, some before her own eyes, and had been to countless funerals in her short life, but this… doing this with Ian made it seem far more personal.

But by the time they're back, they're in mostly companionable silence. Ian sets up the fireplace and she curls up with a book she's supposed to read for her final semester of college. All is quiet except the occasional rustle of papers- briefings that Ian is looking through- and the merry crackling of the fire.

"We never got to the second dance, you know."

Amy's eyes snap up from the page she's currently engrossed in.

"What?"

"At the gallery opening," Ian clarifies, "we only had one dance together."

"Were you planning to ask?"

"You looked far too lovely for me not to," he says, his lips twitching.

Amy smiles, pleased. She silently thanks Sonia for her invaluable advice again before speaking. "Why lovely?" Ian looks at her curiously, and she explains, "When you talk about me… it's always been lovely hasn't it?"

"I think it just stuck since the first time," he says, and there it is again, Amy can't help but think: Korea- the constant references and hints. Sometimes, she wonders if all the tension between them has been building since that moment, because though they may have been fourteen, a moment like that… the adrenaline, the heat, the sheer innocence and sweetness of the brief brush of his lips against hers, and the whispered word that would haunt her for eternity… you don't forget about a moment like that.

A moment later, Ian asks, "I don't suppose you'd like that dance now?"

Amy looks back up at him, suddenly realizing that he's serious, but feels the need to warn him beforehand.

"Full disclosure, the only reason I managed to not trip over myself was because I was bordering on tipsy," she admits, and Ian chuckles.

"That," Ian says amusedly, standing up, "can be remedied." He strides to the what she can only assume is the liquor cabinet and comes back with a bottle of honey-colored liquid, and two glasses. He tops off both of them and hands one to Amy.

"Scotch, single-malt. Drink up," he says, and Amy raises her brows at him, but doesn't refuse it.

Ian meanwhile goes over to the closet and pulls out something that looks remarkably like…

"You have a gramophone?" Amy asks delightedly from her perch near the fireplace, swirling her drink before taking a tentative sip. Immediately, warmth spreads across her body, even more so now that there's a fireplace.

"An heirloom of sorts," Ian says, adjusting the mainspring. "I personally think everything sounds better on vinyl."

Amy rolls her eyes playfully, emboldened by the scotch. "You would, you elitist hipster."

He makes a mock-offended noise. "I resent that."

"But you know you are."

"Elitist I very well may be," he says, standing up, "But hardly a hipster. Can you imagine me with a beard and those ridiculous glasses?"

The music starts to play, and he extends a hand, and she steps forward, taking it.

"Don't you already have glasses?" Amy says once she's in his arms. The music begins with soft chords building up to a dramatic crescendo, and then a czardas starts, almost intimately slow.

"Yes, but practical ones- not those oversized frames purely designed to make you look more intelligent than you are."

"And God forbid Ian Kabra ever be so mainstream as to wear those."

"Quite," Ian agrees looking so smug, Amy wants to kiss that look off his face.

 _Oh God, she wants to kiss him._

Sure, she's wanted to do it before, but those were mere thoughts- wistful at best. Now however, the admittance doesn't frighten her like it would have a couple months ago.

 _Make this leap,_ a voice whispers in her head.

But for the record," Amy murmurs, "I think you'd look good with some scruff." The hand on his shoulder reaches up and caresses his smooth cheek.

It's her touch that's the catalyst.

Somewhere, the music suddenly stops.

" _Amy_." His word comes out as a whisper, and she knows what's going to happen before it does.

The first kiss is slow, tentative, his hands still on her waist while one of hers is cupping his cheek, and the whole time, all she can think is _this is it_.

When she pulls away from him, he has an unbearably tender look in his eye.

"I can guess what you're thinking," she breathes. One hand comes up and the pads of his fingers brush against her cheek, his touch feather-light, as if he's surprised he can even touch her.

"Can you?" His eyes flick almost imperceptibly downwards for a moment, before he meets her gaze once more.

"Korea."

"No. That's the past. This-" his thumb traces across her lower lip, "-this is now."

 _This is it._

"Then what were you thinking?" She inquires.

"How lovely you look tonight,"- "flatterer," Amy mutters- "and then a far more pressing question."

Her interest is piqued. "Oh?"

"Whether that charming blush of yours goes all the way down." His hand now meanders down the curve of her jaw, the hollow of her throat, lower and lower as his lips descend on hers once more-

When they finally break for air, they're on the sofa and he's practically on top of her, and they've lost any semblance of dignity they possessed, but dignity is the hardly the first thing on her mind, not when he's holding her like that, kissing her like that, and all with the promise more… so much more.

He tucks a rogue tendril behind her ear, and peers down at her, his gaze warm and contemplative. "Are you sure you want this?" He asks.

"Considering I'm the one who made the first move," Amy says teasingly, "I think I should be asking you that."

He laughs lowly, pressing another kiss on her heated skin. The longing ache within her only intensifies. She kisses him again, this time long and heady and when she pulls away, she's sure neither of them can think straight.

"Then yes," he says, leaning his forehead against hers, "A thousand times- yes."

In that moment she sees the sun in his eyes, reflecting the smile on her lips.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

 _And they finally kissed! I had that scene written and edited like two months ago, and my issue was writing the rest of the chapter :)_

 _Oh and btw, the song that they dance to in the end, I imagine it to be the beginning bit of Monti's Czardas. There is a really excellent version played by Jennifer Jeon that I encourage you all to check out._

 _My thoughts on writing intimate scenes… On one hand, most romantic relationships have a sexual component to them. But on the other hand, unless it is rated M, it should be kept tasteful (a big pet peeve of mine is the use of the word "tongue" lol), and it is very important to me to incorporate ideas like clear and active consent and frank talks, if need be, in the most natural way possible._

 _If you guys want to read more on this, check out my collection of essays "Feminism, Romance, and 39 Clues"._

 _Also I wanted there to be a discussion on the mental health implications of being put in the position that Amy, Ian, and the rest of the younger Cahill generation were put in, because it seems ridiculous to think that they would have escaped with only wounds that run skin deep. These kids saw people die for them as fourteen year olds, were put practically in charge of a branch by the time they were sixteen or seventeen, saved the world trice over, and so much more. I think a part of the reason Amy left the Cahills as a 20 year-old in my story was because she couldn't handle the stress and pressure, and I think it is very admirable that she realized she needed help and got herself a therapist. Ian, who probably has always suppressed his feelings to a certain extent, still would have thought that therapy was a sign of weakness (like many in our society still unfortunately do), and didn't realize that it could help until Amy told him._


End file.
